by Trace, Piper
Closing her eyes, she exhaled, feeling the pressure of the stress and anxiety lift from her like a vice being released. She pressed her face into his chest, drinking in the safety she felt there like an addict.
“If he wants to hurt you,” Ford whispered into her hair, “I’ll simply need to keep you closer at all times.” He moved a hand down her back, pulling her against him all the way down, stirring heat to life in her core. “And since my work necessarily takes me away at times, I’m going to have Charley move in.”
Evie pulled away to look up at him. “Really?” she asked, a huge grin spreading on her face. She loved the idea of having Charley under the same roof. Like Ford, she couldn’t get enough of the man.
“Yes.” Ford smiled, looking like the dashing businessman he was in his expensive dress attire, only his flashy dimples adding a hint of playfulness behind the polish. “You’d like that?”
“I’d love it!” Evie practically squealed, bouncing in his arms. “Both of you living here together twenty-four seven? Oh—” She sobered. “Can I handle you both that often?” she teased.
“You will, love. You will. If you have to practically live in a warm bath or on the massage table, you will. If I have my way about it.” He pursed his beautiful lips into a bad-boy smirk. “And I always have my way, don’t I?”
“You do, Mr. Hawthorne. And that’s just the way I like it,” Evie whispered, her voice coy as she twined her arms up around his neck to rake her fingers in the hair at his neck.
He kissed her, his tongue dipping through her parted lips to caress hers like a lover. She felt his passion and need for her in the kiss, and it occurred to her that she was happy. So happy. And what was so surprising to her is that for a moment, Ford seemed to feel the same. Happiness was an emotion that seemed foreign to Ford. Smiles from him weren’t rare, especially given that he knew the power of his dimples and unleashed them strategically to manipulate those he could, but his smiles had no depth. His smiles looked right, and they looked pretty, but they rarely seemed to reach his eyes. Behind his eyes, she’d only ever seen loneliness.
Until lately. She melted even more in his arms, basking in how right it felt. This gorgeous feeling, his lips on hers…it couldn’t be false. It couldn’t be.
Ford groaned as he broke the kiss, pressing his cheek against her forehead. “Mmm, Evie. I like the idea too. The three of us together, in bed together—inside each other—it is good, isn’t it?”
She smiled up at him. “It’s better than good. It’s perfect. So does this mean we’ll be sleeping in your room?” she asked, knowing she was pushing him, but feeling that if he felt a fraction of what she felt in his arms that surely it would all be okay. Surely his loving response would come as smoothly and easily as her descent was going in falling for the unavailable, screwed-up man.
But she knew better, even though her fantasies made her forget sometimes.
His smile faltered, a shadow seeming to pass over his face. He stepped back from her, placing the ruined picture face-down on the bar with a thump, as if the matter was now closed. “No, of course not. We’ll each have our own space as we do now. I’ve got plenty of extra bedrooms in the house.” He waved a hand toward the ceiling and the rooms above them. “Would you like another drink?” His posture pulled up straight and the distance between them formalized again with the snap of the bar towel he’d picked up and shook out before wiping under the tumbler he moved to the bar sink.
“No. No thank you.” She opened her mouth to say something to hurt him, to push him. Something about her asking Charley to stay in her room and they’d enjoy each other’s “space” without Ford if he needed his privacy so badly, but she quashed the rebellious urge at the last second. It wasn’t his fault. He had his issues just as she had hers. And he’d given in on the lock situation, not trying to change her. She’d return the favor. Besides, spending the next year spooning in bed each night with the two men was a sure-fire path to a broken heart when she had to move out. Best to keep things at that glaring arms-length he was now maintaining between them.
The two fell into an awkward silence, then Ford’s eyes lit. “I have something for you.” He reached behind the bar and produced a small, robin’s egg-blue box, adorned with a white ribbon.
Evie gasped, taking a step back and jabbing a finger toward the jewelry box. “What is that?”
Ford knitted his brow, his face clouding. “Well, whatever it is, I don’t think it’s going to bite you. You’d think I’d just pulled a small rodent from my pocket.”
She laughed, hating the shaky sound of it. “I’m sorry, Ford. That was rude. I’m not used to getting presents. It just caught me off guard.” And she didn’t like the idea of getting jewelry from Ford, especially after the reminder of their status she’d just been smacked with. Gifts of jewelry were too personal, and she had emotional confusion to avoid.
“Then you must get used to getting presents.” Ford’s voice was staunch. He held out the box until she took the gift gingerly, staring at it as if she didn’t know what to do with it. “Open it.” His tone held a hint of impatience.
She fingered the satin ribbon. The box was so pretty she didn’t want to open it. Wishing she could take a picture of the package while it was pristine, she slowly pulled off the ribbon, trying to memorize how it’d been tied so she could recreate it later.
“Evangeline, if you don’t want it, just say so and I’ll return it.” His posture stiff now, Ford looked every inch of his over-six-foot height. The stance might have been intimidating if it wasn’t for the insecure look in his eyes that humanized him. The look was so out of place on Ford’s face that she had the sudden urge to hug him.
Women in his social circles probably casually and quickly opened packages like this as if they were as commonplace as a greeting card. Looking down, she said quietly, “No, Ford. I want it. I’ve just never gotten anything from this store before.” She slid the ribbon between her fingers, relishing the way it slinked against her skin, the thick feel of it speaking to its quality. “The box is so pretty. I wanted to take my time opening it.”
“Oh.” He relaxed his frame, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wow. This is not going at all like it had in my head.” Smiling, his eyes crinkled and his infectious charm came roaring back. “I suppose if you’re going to get used to getting presents, then I’m going to need to get used to giving them graciously.” He gestured toward the still-closed box and added gently. “Please. Take your time, love.”
She set the ribbon down in a neat pile on the bar and lifted the lid on the box. A smaller, but just as blue, velvet box nestled snugly inside. She extracted the velvet box, her excitement growing with each successive round of packaging. She tilted the lid open. A pair of sparkling earrings nested on a white, silk pillow inside. They might have been silver, but Evie was certain they were the finest white gold. Each had a petite, teardrop gemstone of pale blue dangling from a silver ball. They sparkled like mad in the late sun coming through the wall of windows at the back of the room. Evie swallowed. They were exquisite.
“Whoa,” she breathed. “Ford, I don’t know—”
“Put them on,” he insisted.
“How did you know I needed earrings?”
“You weren’t wearing any yesterday.” His smile was indulgent. “And since you brought nothing with you, you need everything.”
She laughed. “But you got my things for me.” Delicately pulling out one of the earrings, her heart leapt as the gems somehow sparkled even more than they had in the box. As much as the baubles brought her joy, she couldn’t help the unease that shivered up her spine while admiring them. She had to be honest with him about her confusion. Mixed messages were dangerous in the insanely intimate game they were playing. “Ford, I love them. So, so, so much.” She couldn’t take her eyes off the small, brilliant jewel in her fingers. “But I don’t understand this gift. It seems…romantic.”
Without answering, Ford cupped his hand around hers, carefully plucki
ng the earring from her fingers. He moved in close to her again, enveloping her with his scent. Every sense in her snapped to attention, as was usual whenever his body was so near hers. Reaching up, he tucked her hair behind her ear and touched her earlobe, pulling on it gently. She reminded herself to breathe. Why did every touch from him seem backed by live wires of electricity?
After securing the earring in her ear, he tapped the jewel so it swung and then met her eyes again. “I’m pleased you brought that up, and there’s no need to worry, this small gift is not meant to be a romantic gesture.” Evie registered her pang of disappointment and screamed at herself in her head, furious for feeling it.
And another thing occurred to her—small gift? The earrings probably cost two months of her old law-firm salary, maybe more.
He picked the second earring from the box and secured it in her other ear as he continued, her cheek tingling as the backs of his fingers brushed against her skin. “I have a lot of money, and as I told you before, I don’t get close to people. So I never have anyone I can spoil other than people who are only around with the hopes that I might spoil them, and I despise that.”
He put his hands on the outside of her arms and stepped back, inspecting how the jewelry looked on her as he continued. “But now that you’re working for me and living in my home, I have someone I can spoil without worrying about unfortunate consequences or misunderstandings.”
He grinned at her. That heart-achingly, beautiful smile lighting his face. He did look truly happier than she’d ever seen him, and because of that she tried to shake off her misguided feelings of sadness. He wasn’t doing anything wrong; she was. She knew the rules—she was just having a hard time getting her heart to obey.
These are not true feelings, she insisted in her head. It’s typical self-destructiveness, plain and simple. She’d dealt with her patterns of self-annihilative behavior her whole life, but she’d hit rock bottom with John, and this time would be different. She’d emerge from this house in a year with a clean slate, a new job and an unbroken heart.
“They look beautiful on you. When I saw them in the window, I went right into the store. They were made for you.”
Taking a deep breath, she smiled. “I love them, and I’m glad you like them on me.” Her protective inner voice hit its stride. He’s not trying to make me happy. He’s adorning me in what he wants to see me in for his own pleasure. Be honest with yourself.
Giving her expensive presents was about him, not her. She could work with that.
He pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her again, kissing her forehead. “You have no idea how nice it is to have someone to buy something for. I’ve got all this money and no one to share it with—well, no one I want to share it with, except you and Charley.”
She was concentrating hard on not melting in his arms, afraid her heart might crack open and ooze love all over them both, creating a terrible mess. Remaining emotionally neutral around a man like Ford—the kind of man who pushed every button she had—was going to be twice as difficult if he planned on being so unusually affectionate, as he was today.
“So you’ve never bought earrings for Charley?” Her voice was muffled against his chest and he released her, stepping back. She looked down, smoothing her blouse in an effort to hide how shaken she was—how shaken she always was—by his embrace.
His laughter boomed in the large room. “No, no earrings for Charley. Charley would prefer a gift of…” Tilting his head, he appeared to think for a moment. “A tattoo. A new pool cue. Bail money.”
They both laughed, and when the happy noise died down, he touched her cheek once before turning back to the bar to pour himself another drink. He took a sip, his eyes moving around the room and falling on one of the room’s comfortable, over-sized chairs. He sauntered to it, setting his drink on the table between the chair and couch so he could remove his tie and dress shirt, laying them neatly over the back of the sofa. He paused then to look her over, his eyes seeming to assess her outfit—a fitted skirt and blouse. When his eyes fell to her shoes, the tallest heels she owned, they lingered there as he instructed, “Take off your all clothes except your panties and heels and put on my shirt.” He picked up the still-warm dress shirt and handed it to her. “Now, please.”
She raised her eyebrows and couldn’t hide her smile. It was almost funny the way he commanded things in such detail—like his mind never stopped working on what he could ask her to do next. But she’d agreed to the arrangement, so she did as she was told, though she left the room to change her clothes.
When she returned wearing only his crisp, neat shirt, which was three sizes too big for her but smelled deliciously like him, and her panties and heels, he whistled long and low from his spot in the chair. “Look at you…my, my, my.” He shook his head. She felt sexier than she’d ever felt, draped in the shirt that smelled of him. This arrangement made her think of herself as a sexual creature in a way she never had before. It was powerful.
She picked her martini back up and wandered the perimeter of the room, wanting Ford to watch her. His place was gorgeous, but she realized that, like her room, there were no pictures of family or friends. There was a picture of Ford riding a camel in front of pyramids, a picture of Ford on a small sailboat, looking like a Kennedy, a picture of Ford skiing on top of the world, a helicopter in the background, but none of him actually with anyone. “Can I ask you something?” she asked.
“Yes of course.”
“Where are your pictures of family and friends?”
“I haven’t got any.”
“Pictures?” She looked at him.
“Family or friends.” His lips crooked into a wistful smile. “Except Charley, of course, who took all those photos.”
Her gaze sharpened and she scrutinized his face, realizing he wasn’t kidding. This would explain the loneliness she sensed in him. She moved to the large ottoman that doubled as a coffee table and sat down facing him. In three gulps she finished the rest of her drink and he raised his eyebrows, but she set down her glass and ignored his look.
“You really are serious that you have no one in your life except Charley.” She pulled her legs onto the ottoman and hugged her arms around them, knowing the position gave him a perfect view of the satin crotch of her panties, barely covering her flesh. She watched his eyes. He noticed.
In a matter-of-fact voice, he said, “I am an only child. My parents were very busy and I was with nannies or off at boarding school most of the time. We hardly had a relationship. My father died of a heart attack when I was eighteen, and my mother drank herself to death soon after.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” She tried not to sound as taken aback as she was at his intimate and sad revelations.
“Don’t be, she’d been working on it for years and she finally succeeded.” He took another sip, staring at his glass. Evie realized they had that in common too—few friends and family, bad parents or no parents. In fact, other than Charley who was now both their friend, Evie and Ford were both alone in the world.
“I’m not so different from you, I guess.”
“How’s that?” he asked.
“Want to know why I need a lock?”
Ford’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Yes I do. Very much.” So Evie told him, with as little passion as he’d recounted his history to her, of her life with her mom, how she never felt safe or cared for, and her reluctance to have any friends for fear of exposing them to her real situation. Any sorta-friends she may have developed as an adult were taken care of by John. After things went sour with him she was afraid to make a connection with anyone, for their own safety.
“So we’re both alone, you and I,” he said when she finished.
“Alone with Charley,” she clarified and they fell into silence as Ford seemed to mull over the story of her past.
She looked around the cavernous room, realizing how quiet the house was—how empty it must have been before she moved in. When she looked back at Ford, he seemed so dis
connected from the world, sitting in the large, fine, leather chair that probably cost as much as her car, fingering his glass with that reflective look on his face. She longed to reach out to him, to make him feel warm, even if he couldn’t return the affection. But she didn’t. She’d made enough mistakes already.
He continued with his own story as if he’d never paused to hear hers. “I came into a large inheritance before I was even twenty. I used the money to start my first company. That probably kept me out of trouble, having so much responsibility so early. Lots of rich kids get lost when they have nothing to do.” He sipped his bourbon and looked past her, out the window.
“I’m still surprised, though, that you don’t have a larger circle of friends. I mean, c’mon, you’re Ford Hawthorne. People know you. You’re in the papers. Why don’t you have a million friends?”
“Just Charley.” His smile, though weak, was real. The mention of Charley made him come alive.
“But not only are you fabulously rich, which would make lots of people come out of the woodwork to be your friend anyway, you’re also handsome, charming, outgoing, and…fun, I guess…in your own way. People must be interested in being your friend.” Ford raised an eyebrow at her somewhat-compliment and smirked, shaking his head.
He sighed, as if deigning to finally say the truth out loud. “It’s not that people don’t like me. I don’t like them. I don’t have a lot of patience and I’m selfish. I want what I want when I want it, and I have no desire to reciprocate in kind. That makes for a very one-sided friendship, and frankly I don’t wish to put forth the effort it takes to maintain quality friendships. Except for Charley. He understands me.”
Evie tilted her head, trying to discern emotion in his face. Anger? Regret? She couldn’t read anything. “It sounds like you’ve got it all figured out. So why not change?”
“People were hired to take care of my needs my whole life.” He shrugged. “That’s how I learned to relate to the world, I guess. Those were my expectations. I’m not making excuses. I know it’s unacceptable. I’ve tried changing, over the years, but I can’t sustain it and, frankly, I don’t enjoy it. So instead I have an extensive network of people I know and spend time with occasionally. None of whom I’d really call a friend.” He finished his drink and stared down into his empty glass for a moment, apparently lost in his thoughts, before placing the whiskey tumbler gently on the side table.